


Couched as a Question

by JaneDavitt



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/pseuds/JaneDavitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Previously published by Torquere, now out of print and offered as a free story by the author.<br/>When Matt's partner Jordan suggests redecorating, Matt's agreeable until he discovers it means getting rid of the red couch. They bought that couch together, and they've done a lot more than sit on it. It means a lot to Matt and if Jordan's bored of it, maybe it's not the only part of Jordan's life he wants to change...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Couched as a Question

"We need to redecorate in here," Jordan said.

Matt grunted, not really taking it in. He was sleepy and he'd gotten his cushion just right behind his neck. Pleasantly full of pasta, a glass of red wine in his hand, he looked forward to a night watching whatever mindless drivel was on the TV, with Jordan beside him on the couch providing acidly amusing commentary.

"Matt!" Okay, poking him in the ribs when his eyes were closed wasn't fair. Matt swiped at the droplets of wine on his T-shirt and blessed the fashion gods for prompting him to go with black, not the pale blue that made his eyes look two shades darker. "Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, of course you can blow me during the commercial break," Matt said. "No need to ask."

The chances of that working as a distraction were slim to none, but hey, couldn't hurt to try.

"Hilarious." Jordan sat upright, his brown eyes shining with a fervor Matt hated to see wasted on the paint swatches he guessed would be whipped out soon. "Just look at those walls."

Matt squinted obligingly at the one behind the TV, but found himself lost in admiration of the clarity of the picture instead. The new TV was two inches bigger than the old one, and state of the art, for this month, at least. It'd taken the two of them, plus a friend who actually understood instruction manuals well enough not to need them, six hours to set it up.

Worth it though. Nature documentaries weren't really his thing, but he'd been reduced to helpless 'awws' when he'd seen a lion cub gamboling through the long grass, its fur so fuzzy and soft he wanted to pet it. He'd changed channels hastily when cute and cuddly became daddy lion tearing bloody chunks off a hopefully dead antelope, but still. Great picture.

"Dingy," Jordan pronounced. "Boring."

The walls were off-white. Or, to be precise, Winter Moonlight. Matt remembered the name because it was hard to forget something screamed at you by a boyfriend whose face was flushed Scarlet Pimpernel with hints of Sugarplum Candy.

To be fair, Jordan had apologized before the echoes of, 'No, it's not fucking cream! Are you blind?' had finished echoing off the freshly painted walls. He'd been horrified at his loss of control; Matt had been both bemused and amused.

"You liked that color before."

"That was two years ago."

Matt made an effort and glanced around. Now he paid attention, he saw a scuff mark here, a scratch there. The surround sound speakers for the new system were smaller than the old ones, and the bracket holes hadn't matched, so there were bits of wall that'd been touched up and were noticeably lighter in shade.

"Yeah," he said. "It's a mess. We'll slap on a new coat of paint over the long weekend next month. How's that?"

Jordan beamed at him. "You're indulging me. Love it when you do that."

"Yeah?" Matt grinned back at him. Walls were boring, but he could stare at Jordan for hours, well, maybe not actual hours, and not get tired of those brown eyes and floppy dark hair, or that deep dimple in his cheek Jordan hated because he thought it made him look cute. Which it did. Because he was. "Come here and let me indulge you some more."

Jordan slid across the couch and into Matt's lap, purring like a kitten, kissing him with so much enthusiasm Matt had to put his glass down. He kicked it over with his foot a few minutes later when Jordan's teeth sank into his earlobe, but Jordan only chuckled instead of rushing for the carpet steamer.

"Leave it. We'll need a new rug, anyway."

A quiver of unease went through Matt. "What?"

"It's gray," Jordan explained. Except that wasn't an explanation. Not even close.

"Yes," Matt said cautiously. "And?"

"It won't go with the new color."

"You've picked a color? Already?" He couldn't help the squeak in his voice. Last time, it'd taken Jordan seven weeks to narrow it down to three shades.

"No, silly. I just know whatever it is, it won't go with gray." Jordan frowned and tapped his fingertip against the arm of the couch. "Or red."

What? Unease became a cold, stark horror. "You want to get rid of the couch too?"

"Mm. Maybe. Yes. Probably. I don't know." Jordan tugged at Matt's jeans. "Take these off."

"Why? Do you want to toss them in the trash too?" Matt snapped.

Jordan blinked at him. "You wanted me to blow you, sweetie. I'm good, but even I can't do much through a layer of denim."

Matt hunched his shoulder. "Not in the mood now," he muttered. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Again?"

"What?"

"You showered when you got home," Jordan told him with an air of humoring the village idiot. "Remember? You're squeaky clean. And hello, blow job? You're always in the mood!"

True. With a sigh, Matt peeled down his jeans and kicked them off. They landed in the puddle of red wine, but who cared?

Jordan wanted to get rid of the couch.

The _couch_.

***

"That red leather one? The big couch?" Rob drew out 'big' until it needed its own zip code, then yawned, his boredom plain even through a phone. "So?"

Matt clutched his phone tighter. Did no one get that he was upset here? Just because Jordan was the extravagantly vocal one in the relationship didn't mean he was banned from wallowing in angst, did it?

Hell, no.

"That couch is important."

"So is the size of my butt. Really gotta get it to the gym. Shame I can't send it along by itself. Last time I went, there were so many hot men sweating and grunting I kinda overdosed on rippling muscles in the showers. Is that possible? I ended up dating waif-like twinks for a month just to get over it."

"We bought that couch together," Matt said through his teeth. "We had our first not-on-the-bed fuck on that couch."

"I'd say 'TMI' but we both know when it comes to sex, there's no such thing. Especially not when it's you two." Rob sighed gustily. "You're so hard-core, Matt. So macho."

The hell? "I'm a landscape gardener. I plant petunias in patterns."

"See? Man of the earth, all primal and gritty. Your shoulders...mm. And all that sun-bleached blond hair...love it. Though you really need to be generous with the sunscreen, hon. That lovely tan, well, it's not healthy. Just let me know if you need help applying it anywhere hard to reach."

"No flirting unless Jordan's there. That's rule nineteen."

"But we've been friends for years. It doesn't count. We both know we never will."

Only because I never would, Matt thought.

"Now tell me all about how you got Jordan to drop trou for you in your living room."

"In your dreams," Matt snapped and hung up.

Alone in the apartment, he wandered into the living room. The couch dominated it, placed across the middle of the room like a slash of lipstick. He ran his hand over the back of it, the leather warming under his touch. That fuck had been one to remember.

He'd been eating toast that day as he tried to fasten his watch and the watch had fallen, wedging itself between the couch's cushions. He'd shoved the last bite of toast into his mouth and leaned over the back of the couch, reaching out...

_"Matt? Are you out of the shower, hon? Oh!"_

_Matt froze. Busted. Shit. He'd definitely broken rule four -- no eating in any room but the kitchen or the dining room. Being sick got you a tray in bed if you were hacking piteously enough, but he could still remember Jordan's bug-eyed horror at the sight of a bowl of chocolate mousse on the bedside table. Even when Matt had lied and sworn he'd meant to eat it, not spread it over Jordan's cock to be licked off slowly, as was only right and proper, Jordan had refused to be swayed._

_"Don't move," Jordan said, his voice stifled. "Not a muscle."_

_"I'll brush up the crumbs," Matt said. He was also breaking rule he-forgot-what-number by wearing Jordan's robe. Way too short on him, since it hit Jordan mid-thigh, but he'd just needed something to throw on while he ate breakfast. "And wash your robe."_

_"Later," Jordan said, his voice still weird. "I need to get something from the bedroom. Please don't move."_

_Matt frowned, then realization struck as he saw himself through Jordan's eyes, bent over, legs spread, ass bare._

_Oh. Oh._

_It would make him late for work, but what the hell, it was his company._

_When a lubed finger slid into his ass, slowly at first, because even drooling with lust and muttering hotly in Matt's ear, Jordan was considerate, he contemplated giving himself the morning off to recover from the fucking he was about to get. The angle was perfect, the couch at just the right height for both of them._

_"So fucking hot," Jordan said, the helpless little moan he gave in stark contrast to the firm thrust of two fingers. Once Jordan considered Matt's hole ready for fucking, he didn't hold back. Lots of lube, a slow, sweet plunge -- then hold onto your hats, boys. "Do you have any idea what you did to me? I couldn't breathe."_

_"I'm suh-sorry," Matt gasped, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against the slick red leather. It had to be the least sincere apology ever. Two fingers became three, crooked just right, each unerringly accurate rub of a fingertip reducing Matt to open-mouthed bliss._

_"Oh, you will be," Jordan told him and added a carefully enunciated, "Slut."_

_Matt grinned, unseen. After two bottles of wine between them, he'd drunkenly confided his love of dirty talk to Jordan, who'd pinked up adorably when Matt had given him some examples. Since then, every so often Jordan would come up with something suitably torrid, but he rarely put much conviction into the words. Being told he had a cock-hungry hole in the same tone of voice Jordan would have used to offer the Queen a cucumber sandwich was kind of disconcerting, but Matt appreciated that Jordan tried._

_The slap his ass got a moment later wasn't at all polite, though. He yelped and got another. "Slut," Jordan hissed, nailing it this time, along with Matt's prostate._

_Ooh, someone was getting better at this._

_"I should spank you until your ass matches the couch for turning me on like this when I've got an important meeting this morning."_

_Jordan was a realtor who worked for a small company. He made great money, because in addition to being cute, he was smart and persuasive, but the meeting was probably about nothing more earth-shattering than the purchase of a new coffee maker or a redesign of the company logo._

_"Yeah," Matt said with a provocative wiggle of his ass, because when it came to Jordan he really was a total fucking slut. "Your cock's gonna say hi to my hole. Do it, baby."_

And Jordan had. The couch had ended up a foot closer to the fireplace, Matt's ass had been beautifully tender for days, and Matt had bought Jordan a new robe and kept the one he'd borrowed as a keepsake.

Because he was a sentimental slut.

And now Jordan wanted to get rid of the couch. Matt patted it sadly and glared at the paint chips stuck on the walls, all various shades of yellow.

Even he knew yellow and red didn't match.

***

"We could re-cover it," he said to Jordan a week later. 

Jordan glanced up from his e-reader, his expression abstracted, as if he'd been deep in a Russian classic when Matt knew damn well Jordan was reading porn. That e-reader was so crammed with stroke stories, it was going to start dripping lube. 

"We could do what to which?"

"The couch," Matt said, slapping it with his hand and trying not to let himself get distracted by the flat crack of his palm. Jordan and he didn't go in for spanking, not really -- or maybe that should be 'not often' -- but when they did it was always hot. His ass and the sex. "Throwing it away is a waste."

"Sweetie, you can't re-cover leather. Well, maybe you could, but it'd cost more than a new couch. And if we put it out on the sidewalk, someone who needs it will be getting a real find. Reuse, recycle...I forget the rest of it."

"Keeping it and not buying a new one is better for the environment," Matt insisted. "It's only two years old. Replacing it is, um, wasteful."

"I'd agree if demon cat from hell hadn't shredded the side of it. It looks awful."

Matt shuddered. Cat-sitting for one of Jordan's co-workers had gone from a small favor to two weeks of hell. Daisy had been unfriendly, destructive, and had left Matt sneezing helplessly. She'd stalked out of their lives leaving a hairball on the middle of their bed. And, yes, she'd scratched the side of the couch, but it wasn't that bad.

"We can afford it, if that's what you're worrying about," Jordan added. "I got a bonus last month."

"It's not that." Matt bit his lip. "Remember when we bought it?"

"Oh yeah." Jordan's mouth went soft as he smiled, and before he knew it Matt was smiling back, the messy tangle of his emotions forgotten in a rush of love for the guy. "We really tested out this baby, didn't we?"

_"Can we stretch out on it without our feet dangling over the end? I hate that."_

_Matt measured Jordan with his eyes and then estimated the length of the couch. He knew what the answer was, but with the duplicity of the besotted he shrugged. "Only one way to find out."_

_The showroom was large and the goods on sale expensive enough that there weren't many customers. The sales assistant who'd hovered at first was currently explaining to an elderly woman that delivery was extra and always had been, and there was no one close by._

_Jordan kicked off his shoes and lay down. "Oh my God. How soft is this leather?"_

_Matt drank in the sight of Jordan lying down and making orgasm faces as he wriggled his ass. Nice. So nice he wanted to cut the shopping trip short and whisk Jordan back to their place to re-create it. The leather might be soft, but his cock was heading for the opposite end of the spectrum._

_"And it smells good too." Jordan sniffed ecstatically. "Is it weird getting turned on by furniture?"_

_"It's only weird if not many people get off on it and right now I am too."_

_Jordan wrinkled his nose skeptically, but threw in a sensuous squirm at the same time. "That's not enough people to make it normal."_

_"Fuck normal." Matt stared down at him, willing himself not to get on that couch. "No, better yet, fuck you. I want to. Right here, right now."_

_He kept his tone conversational, his expression bland, but he let Jordan see the heat in his eyes._

_"You wouldn't." It was phrased as a protest, a denial, but there was a wistful tinge to the words._

_Matt walked behind the couch, and rested his hands on it. Mm. It was soft. With his hard-on hidden and his hands occupied, he looked innocent enough from a distance. He hoped so, anyway._

_"I would. You think anyone here would stop me once they saw how fucking hot you are? They'd gather around and drool. Beg me to get you naked. Tell me to make you spread your legs wide so they could see you, all of you. They'd go so quiet, not wanting to miss a single whimper."_

_"I'm whimpering?" Jordan gave him a flirtatious glance. "Why am I doing that?"_

_"Because I'm sucking you," Matt told him, getting into the fantasy in a big way. "Just the top inch, so they can still see that thick cock of yours. I'm using my tongue on you like you're candy, and holding you down so you can't get more of my mouth. And you want to."_

_"Oh, yeah," Jordan agreed on an exhaled breath. "I want to. Love your mouth on me. Anywhere you put it."_

_Matt felt his balls tighten. God, this was insane. How the hell was he going to walk out of here with his dick like iron and his face flushed as red as the couch? He should stop. Cool off. End the foreplay before they got thrown out or arrested._

_"You just get a taste and so do I. The audience is getting restless now. They want to see you get taken hard and fast and I can't say I blame them."_

_Jordan pouted. Jesus, that should be illegal. Matt felt dizzy with lust watching Jordan's mouth make that shape. "Maybe I want it slow. You slipping in inch by inch, filling my hole. I want everything you've got."_

_"Oh, you're getting every inch, baby."_

_"How many are we talking about here?"_

_Matt smiled, sultry and sexy, and added on a couple of inches, just for the hell of it. "Ten."_

_Jordan's eyes widened, then he started to snicker, blowing the fantasy out of the water. "In your dreams! God, I wouldn't be whimpering, I'd be--"_

_"Can I help you, gentlemen?"_

_The question was polite enough but the salesman walking over to them had a lemon-sour twist to his mouth. Matt started to reply, but Jordan beat him to it. Swinging his feet to the floor and rising in one smooth movement, he gave the man a cool smile._

_"Sure. You can tell us the earliest delivery date you've got on the couch. We're buying it."_

Matt pulled himself free of the memory and opened his mouth. He'd just come right out with it. Tell Jordan he loved the couch and didn't want to swap it no matter how scratched it was.

Jordan rubbed his thumb over a mark on the arm of the couch and shrugged. "Never did like the color, though."

"What's wrong with it?" It came out sharp and angry. Matt swallowed and tried again. "I mean, you wanted to buy it, so..."

"That was one of those spur of the moment things. Plus, I wanted to piss off that salesman. If they'd had it in a different color, I'd have gone for that, but it was the only one left, remember? So I just..." Jordan shrugged. "Decorated around it."

Matt stood, betrayal making his gut churn. "Sorry you've had to put up with it all this time."

"I got used to it." Jordan sounded indifferent. "Still, I'm looking forward to a change." He gave Matt a puzzled frown. "You're not usually this interested in what I do with the place. What gives? I'm not complaining, just curious."

Matt mumbled something that didn't come close to making sense and walked out of the room before Jordan asked him anything else.

He wondered if Jordan wanted to change more than the couch.

***

"A symbol? Are you kidding me?" Rob fished the slice of lime out of his vodka tonic and sucked greedily at the pulp. "You and Jordan are rock-solid. Trust me, I'd know if you weren't." He smiled, preening himself, a shred of pulp caught between his teeth. "I know all the hot gossip, sweetie. I'd know if Jordan was cheating on you before his dick got hard, let alone lubed up and ready for action."

"Remind me we're friends. I need a reason not to throw up all over you."

"Wounded." Rob put his hand over his heart, sighed deeply, then gestured to the bartender. "Another round, Andy. We need to get this man feeling no pain."

Matt shook his head. "I've had enough." Rob's freckles blurred when he tried to count them. His eyes felt numb and his lips rubbery. The bar they were in was walking distance from his apartment, but he didn't want to stagger out into the night and fall flat on his face. Undignified. He grabbed a handful of salted nuts from the bowl on the bar and shoved them into his mouth. 

Mistake. The salt made him thirsty, but he'd had enough of the frou-frou cocktails this place specialized in. "Can I get some water?" he asked plaintively.

"Sparkling or still? Flavored or plain? Spring or--"

"From a fucking tap." 

Andy snorted and walked away, returning a moment later with a glass of water noticeably devoid of ice, a slice of lemon, or an umbrella. Matt chugged it down and burped.

"Caveman." Rob ran his hand through hair so bright a shade of copper most people assumed he dyed it. Matt had known him since they were eight and it'd always been that way, so he wasn't one of them. "Seriously, sometimes a couch is just a couch. Jordan's always changing things around. I'm surprised it's lasted this long."

"Jordan's always changing everything," Matt agreed. "He doesn't like things staying the same. He says it gets boring. Like me. I'm boring."

"Well, you're heading that way." Rob shook his head. "Before he met you, Jordan wasn't really in it for the long haul, I'll agree. I never bothered remembering the names of his boyfriends because the next time I saw him, he'd be with a new one, but you...you're different. It's been what, two years since I introduced you to him?"

"Two and a half." The water had helped and Andy, with saint-like forgiveness, had refilled his glass. Matt took a gulp. "So it's gonna be your fault when my heart gets broken."

"Oh, so I don't get credit for two and a half happy years, just the blame for the breakup? Charming."

Matt choked on his next mouthful of water. "Breakup? So you think we are?"

"No!"

"You said it like it's a done deal. Like you know something I don't know."

"Keep your voice down!"

"Who the fuck is he seeing?" Matt snarled and fell off his barstool when he tried to grab Rob's shoulders to shake the answer out of him.

Everything got a little blurry after that, including being thrown out.

***

"You're never going out without me again."

"Huh?" Matt opened his eyes, winced, and closed them again, whimpering pitifully as a stab of pain shot through his forehead. "Light. Bright light."

"Oh. Okay. Try this."

Opening his eyes a cautious crack, Matt found the overhead light had been turned off, leaving the front room blessedly dim, though the sunlight sifting through a gap in the curtains told him it was daylight. A whiff of something foul had his stomach lurching and he struggled up.

"Going to be sick."

"Been there, done that," Jordan told him. "Four times before you fell asleep. You weren't always on target in the bucket. The rug's toast, but you were lying on the couch and the couch is on the rug, so I couldn't toss it out. I did scrub it. Lie still and try some ginger ale."

The couch wasn't as comfortable as his bed -- their bed -- but Matt couldn't blame Jordan for not wanting to share a room with him when he was like this. He groaned, shame and the woes of an epically awful hangover combining to make him feel truly shitty.

"Sorry. So fucking sorry."

Jordan held a glass of ginger ale to Matt's mouth, a straw poking up. "Yeah, well I think you've caught that stomach virus going around, so it's maybe not all your fault. Rob told me how much you'd had to drink and you shouldn't be this sick."

Matt sucked tentatively and got a mouthful of cool ginger ale, the fizz mostly gone. It cut through the sludge lining his mouth and settled in his stomach, quieting the violent lurches to subdued tremors. "I love you."

"That's not what you said last night when I tried to get you to sleep in the spare room." 

Jordan seemed amused in a tolerant kind of way. Matt didn't get drunk often, so he guessed Jordan was getting a kick out of seeing him suffering. No, that wasn't fair; Jordan's hands were gentle as he pushed a cushion behind Matt's head, his eyes concerned.

"I wouldn't go in there?"

"Couch or nothing. You were really insistent." Jordan rubbed the back of his neck. "I suppose I should've carried you into our bed, but once you fell asleep you started snoring. Plus, no offense, but you're on the stinky side."

"No, it's okay." Matt couldn't get insulted when every breath he took was making him shudder. "I need a shower."

"Bath," Jordan said firmly. "And I'll stay with you in case you pass out."

"I need to take a piss too."

Jordan was a believer in closed bathroom doors and privacy when it came to bodily functions. Something about preserving the romance. He'd brush his teeth or shave in front of Matt, but that was about it. Matt would've teased Jordan about his inhibitions if he hadn't been scared Jordan would turn the tables and get in a few digs about his insecurities. Jordan wasn't the only one who'd been in a string of short-term relationships -- the difference was, it hadn't been Matt's choice to end any of them. He craved the security of knowing he was loved by someone who wanted to stick around. He'd thought he'd found it with Jordan.

"I'll let you handle that solo," Jordan said, "but I'll be right outside the door. I hear a thud as you slump to the floor, and I'm coming in no matter what."

The bath helped. Matt floated in water just the right side of too hot and sweated out the germs and the alcohol, following the bath with a long nap. When he woke, he was feeling fragile but human and he let Jordan fuss over him without bringing up any of his doubts or worries.

Telling the man who'd cleaned up his vomit he'd suspected him of being unfaithful based on a desire to redecorate just didn't seem as logical a conclusion now that Matt was sober. Though it might have been a self-fulfilling prophecy if he'd shared it.

The couch would have to go. Matt accepted its loss as penance for his lack of trust in Jordan.

He'd miss it for what it stood for and for itself -- it was one hell of a comfortable couch -- but it was time to move on.

Even if yellow walls were going to leave his eyes watering.

***

"I asked Rob to come over later," Jordan said casually over breakfast.

Matt's mouth was too full of toast, butter, and raspberry jam to allow him to reply with words without looking totally gross, but he gave an inquiring grunt.

"Well, moving the couch is a three-man job. You two can provide the muscle and I'll supervise. Make sure the paint doesn't get knocked off."

The walls were a soft honey shade now, Jordan having decided after three brushstrokes that he loathed the yellow beyond words. His anguished apologies had been heartfelt enough that Matt hadn't felt a shred of impatience as he drove across town to pick up a can of the new shade, picked seemingly at random by Jordan from a sheaf of discarded paint chips. It was more fun than watching Jordan apply primer over the sullied patch of wall.

Jordan was a pain in the ass at times, yes. But Matt loved him for his endearing flaws as much as those areas where Jordan was perfection personified, like in bed. Good sex wasn't that hard to find. Love had been more elusive. Matt had thought himself into that state a few times, trying hard to convince himself that yes, this was it, the real deal, but he'd been fooling himself.

Jordan was his Juliet, and like poor, doomed Romeo -- hopefully, not exactly like him -- Matt's first date with Jordan had left him certain he'd found someone to grow old with. And wasn't that what love was all about? Not the immediate bone-melting lust and roller-coaster emotions, but the promise of it all lasting, mellowing into something that got stronger, better every year.

The only fear he had was that Jordan didn't feel the same way. Matt had dated an English major once, who'd ended it with a quotation: 'In love, there is always one who kisses and one who offers the cheek.' It'd been plain Matt was the one using tongue.

Matt didn't know who'd said it before that asshole Stan, and didn't care enough to look it up, but it'd stuck with him like gum on his shoe.

Matt swallowed his toast. Okay. Even he could see red didn't go with Pollen Party any better than it had with Lemon Pie, and the new rug, all swirls of black and melting shades of brown, was ready to go down and had been for two days now. 

He gave Jordan a Brave Little Toaster smile and nodded. 

"How about one last time on the couch before it goes?" Jordan suggested, a naughty, wanton twinkle in his eyes. Any other time, Matt would've been heading that way in seconds, cock already hardening, anticipating whatever Jordan had planned and coming up with some ideas of his own.

Not today. Bursting into tears when he felt the cool, soft kiss of the leather against his skin would kill the mood dead and lead to him confessing, Jordan scoffing, or worse yet, stricken with guilt. Messy as hell. Matt didn't like messy.

"I'd love to, but if you need me this afternoon, I've got to take care of some errands."

"But it's Sunday."

"Yeah, well..."

Jordan gave him a perplexed frown. "This is the third time you've turned down sex this week. Do I need to change my cologne?"

It was? Matt felt a chill of panic as he realized Jordan was right. There'd been that time in the shower and the early morning blow job he'd avoided, claiming he'd over-slept and needed to hurry. It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to, it was just every time they started something, he'd feel a mix of resentment and hurt boil up. He wanted Jordan to see something was wrong and figure out what it was without Matt needing to say a word -- and he wanted to hide what he was feeling so Jordan never knew.

When even he didn't know what he wanted, it wasn't reasonable to expect Jordan to figure it out, but Matt wasn't feeling reasonable right then.

"No, it's just..." Matt cast about for some reason why he'd turn Jordan down. A mysterious rash on his dick? No. Jordan would insist on seeing it, full of concern, and there wasn't anything for him to see. Apart from the dick itself, and Jordan had seen that before. Often. "It's not all about sex," he snapped. "You and me. We don't need to fuck like bunnies to prove something. We're in a stable, committed relationship and we can go a week without doing anything and it's just not a big deal, right?"

Jordan widened his eyes and parted his lips as if he had something to say, but was too stunned to get the words out. Matt couldn't blame him. If Jordan had said that to him, he'd have checked his pulse to see if Jordan was still breathing.

With a shake of his head, Jordan stood. "There's something up your ass even if it's not my dick. I'm not a fucking mind reader, Matt. If I've pissed you off, tell me. Don't make me suffer when I don't know what I've done wrong so I can't make it right. It's not fair." 

Faced with Jordan in an ultra-reasonable, if annoyed mood left Matt feeling like a misbehaving toddler. Jordan could get excited over the craziest things -- who practically creamed their pants over finding the perfect towel for the bathroom? -- but he was definitely turning out to be the stable, mature one in their relationship.

Matt muttered an apology that sounded half-hearted enough to turn Jordan's mood into genuinely irritated, and headed for the door as soon as he could. He really did have a few things to do, though nothing that couldn't have waited, but he needed space. Maybe he could bring back flowers or something to say he was sorry. Cheesy, but Jordan loved it when he was romantic and for a guy who worked surrounded by petals and leaves, it was a gesture he didn't make as often as he should.

After wasting an hour in a coffee shop reading the newspapers and getting depressed at the state of the world, he found a florist and picked out a dozen roses, shuddering when the woman behind the counter pointed at some Black Ice roses, their petals a rich, glowing scarlet, and going with the Beehive Gold instead.

They bought him a tight smile when he returned, and a polite kiss, but it was pretty fucking clear that until he spilled, Jordan wasn't going to let the ice melt all the way.

Well, once the couch had gone to the curb, the pickers who scoured the streets the night before trash day would soon whisk it away. Out of sight, out of mind. Drama over. He'd dream up a story that would explain his behavior and let it all go. 

An hour later, sweating through his T-shirt, his thumb throbbing viciously from being trapped between the wall and the couch, his back muscles giving warning twinges, the only thing Matt wanted to let go was his end of the couch.

It'd been delivered and placed in the room by two burly men with beer guts who'd handled it as if it was as light as a bowl of chips. Since then, Matt had sometimes pushed it here and there when he was cleaning the floor, but never lifted it. He lugged around huge bags of compost and earth at work, dug for hours in the sun or rain; he was fit, strong, and used to physical labor. None of that mattered when it came to the couch.

It was heavy.

And it had taken three of them ten minutes to figure out how to tilt it to get it through the living room door and then the door into the entrance hall. Ten minutes of twisting, angling, lifting, turning...

"Be careful!"

Matt was totally, completely certain Jordan was worried about a painting on the wall, the wall itself, or scuff-marks on the wooden floor. Not Rob, nor him. They were walking muscle to be ordered about, every movement directed.

That was kind of hot looked at one way. Maybe. 

"Oh God, don't put it down again, Rob!"

No, on second thought, it was just plain irritating.

Matt exchanged a glance with Rob and they lowered the couch carefully, then straightened.

"This couch is heavy," Matt told Jordan, using the break to massage the small of his back. "Very heavy and very big. We're doing our best and you're not helping as much as you think you are. What would help is getting us both a beer. In the bottle."

Jordan hated it when he drank beer straight from the bottle, but Matt didn't give a fuck. 

"Fine," Jordan said after a long pause. "A beer. Okay. I guess a break wouldn't hurt."

"Amen to that," Rob said with a sigh. His face was flushed, sweat beading his forehead. He lowered his voice as Jordan left. "Can't we just chop it up and toss it out the window?"

It was a measure of Matt's exhaustion that he gave that idea serious consideration before reluctantly rejecting it.

"It's a good couch. Someone will appreciate it."

"I'd take it myself if I had room." Rob lived in a tiny apartment made smaller by his inability to keep it tidy. He scratched his nose. "Judging by the way you kicked it and called it a fucking piece of junk a few minutes ago, I'm guessing the fond memories have faded?"

Matt heard the fridge door slam and the clink of bottles. Jordan would uncap them, put the caps in the recycle bin, pick up the bottles, then notice the condensation they'd left... He had time to shut Rob up. "What? Oh, that. Yeah, not a big deal. Don't know what got into me that day. Forget about it."

"Hmm," Rob said, enough skepticism in his voice that Matt frowned at him -- then followed Rob's gaze to his hand. He was caressing the back of the couch, stroking the leather as if it were a pet he loved. 

He snatched his hand away and met Rob's amused look squarely. "Not a fucking word to Jordan, okay?"

"Ooh, threats. How macho," Rob mocked. "Just remember, sweetie, the key to a lasting relationship is communication. Want me to spell that out for you? Starts with a 'c' and ends with 'tell him you've developed a weird fetish for red leather couches'."

Matt would've given Rob the finger, but he was saving his strength for lifting the beer bottle. He settled for a half-hearted scowl and had to change his expression to something less unwelcoming when Jordan reappeared, bottles in hand.

"I could maybe take over from one of you," Jordan offered. "Since you don't think you need directions."

Matt felt more charitable after a long swallow of ice-cold beer. "Didn't mean to snap at you. And sure, you can lift Rob's end with him."

"There isn't room for two of us," Rob objected. "And I'm not the one complaining."

"We're so close to the door," Jordan said brightly. "Out of the door, down the hallway to the service elevator, along the corridor to the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. Piece of cake."

"Ax," Rob said through gritted teeth. "I mean it."

Jordan looked puzzled. "What?"

Matt sighed and passed his beer back to Jordan. "Never mind. Let's do this. Rob, give Jordan the beer. Right. On three. One, two..."

Forty minutes later, after a brief, intense spat when Jordan had discovered, too late to be of any use, that the legs he'd assured Matt were built-in, impossible to remove, actually unscrewed, the couch was resting on the sidewalk, unscathed and looking more scarlet than ever.

By the end, all three of them had been carrying or dragging it and without a word they sat on the couch, dazed with exhaustion, and stared out at the traffic.

"You owe me," Rob said finally, dully, his voice and ebullience flattened. "You two owe me big time, you fuckers."

"As long as it's not a threesome, you've got it," Matt told him."Anything."

"Anything," Jordan echoed.

Rob examined his hands and picked at a blister. "All of that, and you didn't even want it to go," he muttered.

Matt, sitting in the middle, used his elbow to administer a warning nudge, but it was too late. Jordan jerked upright, his spine exclamation point stiff. "Who didn't want it to go?"

"Ignore me. It's the three gulps of beer talking." Rob shrugged. "Or on the other hand I could be honest and tell you that Matt's been sobbing on my shoulder for weeks about losing this monster of a couch. Don't bother giving into him, though. There is no way, no fucking way, I'm carrying it back upstairs."

"You asshole," Matt snarled. He rose and grabbed Rob's arm, hauling him up and off the couch. "Get off it and get lost."

Rob shook himself free of Matt's hand. "You," he said levelly, "are an ungrateful son of a bitch and when you've realized you owe me for this too, you'd better make the apology on your fucking knees."

He walked away without looking back, leaving Matt to run his hand through his hair and wonder just how many people he loved weren't going to be speaking to him by bedtime.

"Matt?" Jordan pointed at the door to their apartment building, his mouth tight. "Inside. Something tells me this is going to get loud and I don't want an audience."

Jordan getting pushy in the bedroom was one thing, but Matt wasn't used to taking orders the rest of the time. The shocked hurt in Jordan's eyes was what got him moving, not the curt command.

The living room looked empty without the couch. Matt hadn't been invited along on any shopping expeditions so he assumed a replacement hadn't been chosen yet -- though maybe it had. That thought stung.

"So," Jordan said, his voice echoing against pristine walls. "You've put me through hell, got me worried me to death that you were breaking up with me, or the business was going under, because of the couch? Seriously?"

Put like that...

"Why does the couch matter?"

"It's a symbol, I guess." Matt gave him a hunted look. "We bought it together."

Jordan swept out his hand. "This is our home. We bought everything together. We bought the toaster, but when it started spitting the bread out charred black, you tossed it with two slices still inside it. I don't recall you shedding any tears then."

"The couch is different."

"Why?"

"It just is." Matt felt as if he was being pushed inexorably toward the edge of a cliff. "It was a big deal buying it and it was the first thing we got together. We were making a home. That couch felt like the heart."

"Because it was red?" Jordan sighed and held up his hand in an apology. "Sorry. Sarcasm's easy and I'm so fucking wiped out I can't be witty."

"I get that." Matt wasn't sure what to say next. He felt wrong-footed. This was playing out so badly and much though he wanted to blame Rob, he couldn't.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you just fucking say, 'Jordan, I love this couch, let's keep it'?" 

"Because I felt stupid, okay? Getting maudlin over a piece of furniture, remembering buying it, you fucking me over it, all those nights curled up together watching movies..."

"We can do that on any couch," Jordan pointed out. "All of it. I'm not trying to make you feel in the wrong, but I don't get it."

"It's a symbol," Matt said helplessly. "I don't know why, it just is. Was."

"No," Jordan said and walked over to the bookcase, a built-in one, ceiling height, every shelf filled. He took out a book and reached behind it, taking out a small box. "This is a symbol." He tossed the box to Matt who caught it automatically, feeling it smack sweetly into his palm. 

The size and shape could only mean one thing. He held it without opening it, his world shattering in that instant and reforming into something new, something better. They'd celebrated the change in law that allowed gay couples to marry without discussing how applied to them personally. "A wedding ring?"

"Yeah. I wanted to get two, so we matched, but then I thought if you said you wanted to do it, maybe you'd want to choose one for me yourself, so I didn't." Jordan eyed Matt, his nervousness plain, his teeth digging into his lower lip, worrying it. "Going to open it before or after you turn me down?"

"Why would I turn you down?" He couldn't breathe properly, and his heart was hammering, but he could still walk over to Jordan and he did, closing the distance between them. 

"I don't know. Because I didn't pick up on what you were going through and I tossed out the foundation stone of our relationship?"

"It's just a couch," Matt told him and kissed Jordan with the box still unopened because whatever the ring looked like couldn't compare to the light in Jordan's eyes. Jordan's mouth was hot against his, opening eagerly. Matt let himself enjoy the first real kiss he'd had in weeks, his hands running through Jordan's hair, cradling his head, the ring box shoved into the front pocket of his jeans.

Jordan broke the kiss before Matt wanted him to, looking satisfyingly dazed, his cheeks flushed, his breath erratic. He inhaled slowly to steady himself. "Sorry to hear you say that."

Matt kissed Jordan's ear, sucking on the lobe, knowing it drove Jordan crazy. He wanted to take Jordan to bed, have him naked against him, with nowhere for secrets to hide. "Why?"

"I ordered us one exactly the same but in brown. It arrives tomorrow. You always said this was the perfect couch, so I tracked one down online."

"You--" Matt drew back so he could see Jordan's face. "Oh my God, you did not!"

Jordan dimpled. "Did too."

"Brown..." He tried to picture it. It'd go great with the walls -- and for him to even think that showed how much Jordan was rubbing off on him. "I don't deserve you."

Jordan blinked at him, looking genuinely puzzled. "Are you kidding? I'm a drama queen who redecorates too often because I don't trust my choices enough to stick with them long. You're perfect. And you said you'd marry me, didn't you? Tell me I heard you say you would."

"Name the day and I'm there." Matt exhaled and let the last of his worries leave him with his breath. "Married. Us. That's so out there."

"In a good way?"

"In the best way." Matt tried to wrap his head around introducing Jordan as his husband. Seeing the glint of gold on their hands as they sat side by side on the new couch. Waking up knowing he was loved and wanted for the long haul, their love a perennial, not an annual. Hell, make that an oak, something that lived for decades, growing taller, stronger, putting down roots... "I love you. I love you for proposing, I love you for forgiving me for being a jerk, and I really love you for getting our couch back. Kind of."

Jordan grinned at him, then winked. "Just don't get too attached to this couch, okay? Because the walls won't stay honey for long."

Matt groaned and then turned his head as he heard a truck rev up outside. He went over to the window, but the red couch was gone, spirited away.

It didn't matter. When he turned around, Jordan would be standing in the empty place where it'd once been.


End file.
